


It Happened In Vienna

by respoftw



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Stargate, Fluff, Inspired by a Movie, M/M, Meet-Cute, Romance, Romancing McShep Fest 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 07:15:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9710618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/respoftw/pseuds/respoftw
Summary: John Sheppard's vacation gets interesting when he meets Rodney McKay on a train.  Too bad it's his last night in Europe.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Romancing McShep 2017 which (like an idiot) I thought started on the 1st of February. Hence, the super early posting on the day it does start!!

The Hungarian countryside blurred by in a sea of green; beautiful but unremarkable after six weeks of similar sights.  If John never rode on another train again, it would be too soon.  The bullet train might be acceptable (that, at least, was fast) but a month and a half of travelling at no more than 70 mph was starting to make him itch for the adrenaline that came with speed.  At least his plane home tomorrow would be fast, even if he did hate flying as a passenger.  Fifteen years in the Air Force would do that to a person.

John settled back against the tired upholstery, giving up on the scenery, and opened his battered copy of ‘War and Peace’, making another attempt to read it.  Six weeks and he had still only managed fifty pages.  He probably should have taken Ronon’s advice and brought something a little lighter but he would never admit it.  Not to Ronon anyway.

He was barely two paragraphs in before his attention was caught by something else.  An argument had broken out somewhere down the carriage and John jumped on the distraction with a readiness that spoke of more than just his distaste for Russian literature.  It had been a lonely six weeks.  

John had never got the hang of German as a language, its sounds too guttural and harsh for his ears  _ and _ his tongue.  The argument between the couple, a man and woman, certainly sounded harsh and from the angry looks and waving hands, it wasn’t just the language that made it seem so.  People watching (he refused to think of it as anything more sinister than that) had gotten him through the last six weeks of solo travel and John had long lost any residual guilt at the activity that he had harboured at the start.  It helped that, with the exception of a spattering of Spanish that hadn’t been remotely helpful during his time in Spain, he couldn’t understand what the hell the people he watched were saying.  John happily indulged in a bit of schadenfreude (one of the few German words he  _ did  _ know), if only to save him from the boredom of his book.

The argument continued to grow in volume and vehemence, to the point that John’s military training was starting to pick at his conscience and insist that he intervene.  Before he could decide one way or the other, the passenger who had been unfortunate enough to choose the seat across the aisle from the arguing couple - a man around John’s age with broad shoulders and a receding hairline that made John want to reach up and check his own hair for peace of mind - stood up and snapped harshly in German, directing a vicious looking glare at them as he stuffed his laptop into its carry case and pulled his other bags from the overhead stowage.  The action seemed to silence the couple for a brief moment but the argument picked up again, louder than before, as soon as the other passenger stalked away from them, making his way towards John’s end of the carriage.

The man threw his bags onto one of the empty seats directly across the aisle from John while he collapsed on to the other one with a grumble.  John tried not to stare as the man pulled out his own book and buried his head in it, his face like thunder.

Trying to follow the man’s example, John picked up ‘War and Peace’ again, determined to finish the damn book, if only to prove Ronon wrong.  His attention wavered again as the argument reached a crescendo, the woman standing up, slapping the man across the face and storming up the carriage at a rate of knots.  Her husband (John was guessing on that point, the tone of the argument certainly reminded him of his own brief foray into marriage) followed hot on her heels, the both of them disappearing through the door next to John’s seat.  

The entire carriage seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

John’s eyes caught those of the man sitting opposite as they both looked forward from following the path of the arguing couple and he found himself looking at the bluest pair of eyes he’d ever seen.  The man’s mouth crooked up into a facsimile of a smile, the same socially awkward uptick of the lips that seemed to accompany any accidental eye contact between strangers, and John was hit by a sudden need for human contact.

It really had been a lonely six weeks.

He found himself speaking before his brain could convince him what a stupid idea that was.

“Can you tell me what they were arguing about?” he asked.  The man stared at him blankly and John smiled ruefully, scratching at the back of his neck.  “Ah, do you..sprechen Sie englisch?”

The man rolled his eyes so heavily that John almost got dizzy just looking at them.  “They were discussing ignorant American tourists who never bother to learn any other languages,”  the man answered in perfect English.

His accent sounded American to John but, given the disdain, he managed to put into the word ‘American’, he made another guess.  “Canadian?”

“Obviously.” The man glared at him, a watered down version of the look he had given the German couple before dismissing him and focussing on his book again.

John refused to give up that easily.  This was the most conversation he’d had since leaving the US - his daily phone conversations with Ronon and Teyla didn’t count.  “What are you reading?”

Mr. Canada sighed heavily at the interruption but angled his book so that John could read the cover which he was taking as a win.  He didn’t recognise the title, some dry sounding physics book that made Tolstoy sound inviting.

“You?” the stranger asked, looking at John’s own book.

John held ‘War and Peace’ up, enjoying the raised eyebrow. He got the impression that he had managed to subvert expectation. Before he could expand on this promising start and ask any follow-up questions, the door to the carriage slid open behind them and the German couple returned, still snapping loudly at each other.  His new Canadian friend wasn’t the only person in the carriage that groaned.

John took his opportunity.  “Hey,” he caught the man’s attention, “I was thinking of checking out the lounge car.  You want to come with?”

Blue eyes looked at him, assessing, before darting back to look at the loud couple.  John was evidently the lesser of two evils; the man stood up and pulled his bag down.  “OK.”

John resisted the urge to punch the air in success.  “OK,” he gathered his own belongings and waved his hand in the direction of the lounge car.  “After you.”

He couldn’t help but notice as they went that Mr. Canada had a fantastic ass.  That should have been his first clue that he was screwed.

-*-*-*-*-*-

The lounge car was sparsely populated when they arrived, lunch having long since passed, and they easily found an empty table to claim as their own.  John watched his companion settle himself awkwardly in the forward facing seat and slid into the seat opposite.

“So,” he began, “we should probably do introductions.  I’m John.”

“That’s original,” Mr. Canada muttered quietly before continuing at a normal volume.  “Rodney.  Is my name.”  He cleared his throat and crooked his mouth in that same little proxy smile from before.  “I, uh, I don’t do this much,” he admitted.

His admission amused John.  “What?” he teased.  “Have coffee with ignorant American tourists?”

Rodney’s smile came a little more naturally at that which made John feel all warm inside.  He shifted in his seat, stretching his legs out to get more comfortable.  “So, Rodney,” he drawled, “how many languages do  _ you _ speak then?  Put my American ignorance to shame.”

Rodney smirked and started counting them off on his fingers.  “English, obviously.  French, German, Italian, Czech, Romansh and enough Russian and Japanese to get by.”

John must have looked suitably stunned if the smug grin on Rodney’s face was anything to go by.

Rodney laughed. “You really came all the way to Europe on vacation without being able to speak any other languages?  Are you trying to be a walking cliche?”

John felt the need to defend his honour (or his intelligence, at least).  “I speak Farsi and Pashto.  Does that count for anything?”

Rodney looked at him curiously and, just for a moment, John felt like those blue eyes could see right through him.  He resisted the urge to squirm in his seat.

“Military?”  Rodney hardly made it sound like a question.

John answered with a grimace.  “Not anymore.”

The weight of those blue eyes released him and John relaxed.  Rodney was obviously more adept at reading social cues than he looked and allowed John to change the subject.

John took the permission and ran with it, steering the conversation into safer waters.  “Where you headed?”

“Home.  Geneva.   _ Switzerland _ ,” Rodney added as if John might not know.

John remembered the physics text that Rodney had been reading and made an educated guess.  “CERN?”

It was Rodney’s turn to look impressed, something John thought might not happen very often.  “For my sins,” he admitted.

John nodded, trying not to preen.  “So, you live out here?  That’s pretty cool.  Are you coming from Budapest?”  The train had made a few stops since leaving Budapest but that was still John’s best guess.

Rodney hummed in agreement.  “Physics conference.  Deathly dull.  Filled with people whose doctorate should be printed on toilet paper for all its worth.  What about you?  Where are you headed?”

“Vienna,” John replied.  Then, just to be a dick, he added, “ _ Austria _ .”

Rodney’s eyes twinkled in acknowledgement of the dickish move.  “What’s in Vienna?”

“My plane back to the states.”  John shrugged.  “I’m flying home tomorrow.”

John wondered if it was only his imagination that made him see the flash of disappointment on Rodney’s face.  He knew it wasn’t imagination that felt the same flash of disappointment himself at saying the words.

“You were here on vacation?” Rodney asked.

It was a valid question, one that John should have seen coming given the topic of discussion, but somehow they were back on dangerous ice again, inching closer to the multitude of things that John had spent the last six weeks resolutely  _ not  _ thinking of.

“It’s..complicated,” he finally admitted.

Rodney groaned.  “Please don’t tell me you’re on one of those ‘eat, pray, love’ find yourself quests?  You’re either far too young or far too old for that.”

John had to laugh.  He was almost tempted to say that he was.  Something told him that it would make Rodney’s head spin but he reigned himself in.  There was no point antagonising the nice man, no matter how much fun it would be, or how much he thought they would  _ both  _ enjoy it.  “Let’s just say that I’m keeping a promise,” he hinted.

He could tell that Rodney wanted to know more, had a feeling that curiosity ran in his veins, but was once again gratified to see him back off.  “Have you enjoyed it?” Rodney asked stiltedly, almost like small talk was a foreign concept.  “Europe?”

John chuckled.  “Not really.”  His chuckle turned into a strangled laugh as Rodney gaped at him.  “I mean, it’s been ok.   _ This _ has been nice,” he gestured around them at the train.  “I got a Eurail pass when I landed in Barcelona and have pretty much spent the six weeks doing this.  Lots of thinking time, too much really.  Quiet.  I miss home.”

“Name me  _ one _ thing that’s better in America than it is in Europe,” Rodney demanded.

John didn’t even hesitate.  “The beer.”

“ _ The beer _ ?” Rodney screeched.  “Are you certifiable?”

John had been right; watching Rodney’s head spin was fun.

Their waiter - a stooped, elderly man in a ridiculous hat and jacket combination - chose that moment to amble up to them with a couple of menus, sullenly asking for their drinks order.  Once they had ordered (just coffee, no fancy European beers) and he was gone, John pointed after him.

“Also, the service.  Europe is  _ not _ service oriented.”

Rodney had to concede that point, however grudgingly.  “But,” he pointed at John, “let me tell you just how wrong you are about the beer.”

-*-*-*-*-*-

“ _ How _ many times?”  John almost choked on the last bite of his turkey sandwich.  “You carry an epi-pen around with you, right?”

Rodney patted the side pocket of his trousers comfortingly.  “I don’t leave the house without it,” he said around a mouthful of (citrus free) egg salad.  “The twelfth hospitalisation was the charm.  Here, look,”  he leaned forward and stretched his neck upwards, baring his throat to John.  “You can still see the scar from the tracheotomy.  Carson’s a damn hack.”

John peered at the pale skin of Rodney’s throat and could just about make out the small horizontal scar.  “Cool.  But not as cool as this.”  John angled his own neck to the left, showing off the faint scar on the right hand side.  “Somalia.  2004.  There were these really big  _ bug  _ things.  Kind of like leeches.”  He shuddered at the memory.

Rodney’s eyes narrowed in challenge.  “I didn’t realise this was a competition.”  He pulled up the sleeve of his striped shirt, exposing a well muscled forearm with a vicious looking scar on it.

John winced in sympathy.  He knew a knife scar when he saw one; knew it all too well.

“Astrophysics must be more dangerous than I thought,” he said quietly.

Rodney rolled his sleeve back down quickly, sensing the change in mood.  “Yes, well,” he coughed.  “I, ah, may have done some work with the US government before I decided that CERN was safer.”

John huffed an approximation of a laugh, completely devoid of amusement.  “Nuclear research, safer?  Yeah, I can see that.”

“How long have you been out?”  Rodney once again saw right through to the heart of the matter.

John didn’t have to ask where from.  “You make it sound like prison,” he said.  “Six months.  Honourable discharge.”

Rodney nodded absently, tearing his napkin into strips.  John was trained to notice things but even if he hadn’t been, it would only have taken five minutes in his company to know that Rodney was a fidgeter, never happy unless his hands could worry at something.  John pushed over his empty sugar packets and Rodney accepted them gratefully, ripping them into squares.

“They say it gets easier,” John offered.  “I..I’m still waiting on that part.”  He didn’t know what it was about Rodney that made John want to open up when he had been completely unable to open to anyone else in the past six months.  Not Ronon, not Teyla, not the nice, well-meaning people at the veteran’s association.  All he knew was that Rodney didn’t feel like a stranger even though he was one.  Maybe it was that strange dichotomy that made him feel safe.  He could unburden himself to a friendly face with the sure knowledge that he wouldn’t have to see that face ever again.

He wasn’t ready to think about how, already, the knowledge that he would soon disembark and leave Rodney behind hurt a little bit.

“After the thing,” Rodney gestured at his arm, indicating his hidden scar.  “I..well, my shrink, Kate, says it was PTSD.  I know it’s not the same but…” Rodney trailed off, shrugging his shoulders.  “You know that I could have flown?  From Geneva to Budapest and back.  It’d be quicker and possibly cheaper but..it’s..I  _ know _ the statistics.  I  _ know _ that I’m more likely to die in the car on the way to the airport but I sit in an aeroplane and I can  _ see _ the wings break off, I can  _ see _ the crash and hear the screams and - “  Rodney smiled sadly.  “A morbid and obsessional fear of my own death.  That’s what Kate calls it.  I..I guess what I’m trying to say is that it’s not just you who’s a little lost.”

John did something he rarely ever did.  He gave in to the overwhelming need, the  _ want _ , and placed his hand gently on Rodney’s arm, right over the scar. He squeezed gently, trusting that his contact, his touch, would convey his understanding and his thanks better than any words that he would stumble over ever could.

Rodney lifted his head and smiled, crooked and self-deprecating.  “I, ah, I think this is Vienna.  You’re getting off here, right?”

John registered the slowing down of the train and swore.  “Shit.  Yeah, I gotta...my flight.”

“I remember.”

“This sucks.”  John flopped against the back of his seat, already missing the warmth of Rodney’s arm under his hand.  “I wish I had met you earlier, you know?”

“Yeah.”  Rodney sighed.  “I know.”

John swore again.  “I - -”

“It was good to meet you, John.”

John deflated.  “Yeah.  Yeah, you too Rodney.”

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

“OK, hear me out.  I have an insane idea.”

Rodney’s eyes widened in surprise as John and his newly collected bag flopped into the seat he’d not long vacated.

“You’re supposed to be- -”

“I _ said _ hear me out,” John interrupted.  “So, I have a flight out at 1030 tomorrow morning and I don’t have enough Euros left for a hotel room so I was just gonna walk around the city- -”

“Like a  _ bum _ ?” Rodney sounded horrified.

“No interruptions,” John huffed.  “So, I got to thinking and...I’m not ready to stop talking to you yet.  I mean, there’s something here, right?”  He looked beseechingly at Rodney.  “I’m not just crazy after six weeks of solitude?”

“I can speak now?” Rodney snarked.  His voice softened.  “You’re not crazy.”

“Good.  Great.  So, here’s the idea.  You get off the train and keep me company.”

John watched, hopeful, as Rodney’s face went through a rapid series of mini expressions, his every thought there for the reading.  It was one of the things John liked about him, that complete lack of guile.

“Why would I do that?” Rodney argued.  “You could be an axe murderer. Or a Trump supporter.”

John grinned, tasting victory.  That wasn’t a no.  He could work with that.  Maybe.  He only had three minutes left.

A flash of inspiration hit him.  “Think of it like time travel,” he said.  “Five years from now, ten years, when you’re sitting at home with your Nobel prize and thinking back on how you got there, you’ll wonder ‘what if I had got off the train with that ignorant American tourist’?  What would have happened?   _ This _ is your chance to find out.  You’re Doc Brown and you’ve created the Delorean to come back to this moment and see what would have happened and then you can go back to the future, satisfied that you did the right thing and I’m just as dumb and American as I seem and you get on with your life.  C’mon, Rodney.  What do you say?”

Rodney hesitated just for a second before he grabbed his bags and stood up.  “I want you to know that the only reason I’m agreeing to this is so that I can explain to you, in great detail, why ‘Back To The Future’ is one of the most ridiculous movies in the history of ridiculous.”

John hollered in delight, clapping Rodney on the shoulder and pushing him down the aisle and off the train.  “I’ll take it, buddy,” he grinned.  “I’ll take it.”

-*-*-*-*-*-

After securing their luggage in the obscenely priced lockers at Westbahnhof station and booking Rodney on the first available train the next day, John and Rodney found themselves wandering the streets of Vienna, and coming to terms with what they had just done.

Rodney’s detailed explanation of the  _ many  _ shortcomings of ‘Back To The Future’ saw them easily through the first fifteen minutes but after that…

“Did you know that Vienna has four times as many bridges as Venice?”  Rodney broke the silence topically as they turned onto a bridge, its green metal frame bright against the blue sky of late afternoon Vienna.

John latched onto the topic gratefully.  “That’s unexpected,” he said.  “How the hell do you even know that?”

Rodney waved his phone in the air.  “I downloaded an app,” he said.  “How else are we going to know what to do to keep ourselves occupied?”

John, who had been planning to walk and see where it took him, fished his own phone (a ‘bon voyage’ present from Teyla and Ronon) from his pocket.  He held it out to show Rodney.  “Do I get those app things on here?”

Rodney stopped in the middle of the pavement, aghast.  “You’re kidding, right?”

“Hey,” John protested.  “It makes calls and sends messages.  That’s all I need it for.”

“What about email?” Rodney gaped.  “Music?  YouTube?  Pokemon Go?”

“ _ Pokemon _ ...you’re speaking another language now, aren’t you?” John teased.  Rodney turned an alarming shade of beetroot and John took pity on him.  “Relax,” he laughed. “I have a godson.  I know what Pokemon are.”

“Good,” Rodney blustered.  “I was starting to regret getting off the train.”

John felt a fluttering happiness settle in his stomach at the phrase ‘starting to’.  It was good to know that Rodney wasn’t already wishing that he were still on his way to Switzerland.  “So,”  John turned to lean against the rail of the bridge, looking out over the streets below, “what is there to do?”

Looking at his watch, Rodney sighed planted his elbows on the green metal rail next to John.  "All the museums and art galleries are just about closing so, not much." 

John knocked his shoulder against Rodney’s playfully.  “Don’t worry,” he said.  “I’m sure we’ll find some way to pass the time.”

Rodney turned to look at John, his eyes darting to John’s lips for just a second.  “You better make it worth my while,” he challenged.

John wetted his suddenly dry lips and straightened up, tugging Rodney up with him.  “I promise,” he said.  “Now, what does that app of yours say about the public transport?”

-*-*-*-*-*-

Hopping onto a tram just as it pulled off was a skill that John had mastered as a kid, coming back to him as easily as riding a bike or flying an Osprey.  The quiet cursing and stumbling from Rodney made it clear that the skill was not universal.

“There would have been another one in eight minutes,” Rodney complained, red-faced and out of breath.

“Eight minutes of wasted time,” John argued.  “I said I would make this worth your while, didn’t I?”

Rodney huffed as he turned around and collapsed onto a free seat away from the few passengers that shared the tram carriage with them.  “Just bear in mind that I’m not in my twenties anymore,” he complained.

John sat down next to him, pulling off his jacket and bunching it up before setting it on the empty space on the bench next to them.  “How old are you anyway?”

“Thirty-six.”  Rodney looked at him with a hint of amusement.  “We really do know next to nothing about each other, don’t we?”

John couldn’t argue with that.  He was just glad that Rodney found it amusing rather than terrifying.  “Well,” he drawled, “I’m thirty-seven.  I like Ferris wheels and college football, anything that goes over 200 miles per hour.  What about you?”

Rodney snorted.  “What?  We’re going to play 20 questions?”

“Why not?”  John shrugged.  “I’ll even let you go first.”

Rodney hummed in thought.  “When did you realise you were gay?”

Spluttering, John laughed.  “ _ That’s  _ your question?  Of all the things that you could ask.”

 

“You  _ are _ gay, right?” Rodney looked worried.  “Because I’ve been wrong about that before and you  _ were _ in the military.  They’re not exactly known for their tolerance and if you’re thirty-seven you would have joined long before they repealed Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell and- - “

“You’re right,” John interrupted.  “It’s a fair question.  I..I always knew.  I just..wanted to fly more.  It seemed a fair trade at the time.”  He decided not to dwell on the part where he married a woman to try and live a more convincing lie.  That was more of a Paris conversation than a Vienna one.

“Air Force?”  Rodney asked and John nodded.  “A flyboy, huh?”

“Ex-flyboy,” John corrected.  “But yeah.  Even made it all the way to Major.  So,”  John rubbed his hands together mock gleefully, “my turn.”

Rodney groaned.

“I’ll go easy on you to start,” John teased.  “OK, here’s one.  What pisses you off?”

“What pisses me off?”  Rodney looked like a kid in a candy store.

“Yeah,” John said, warming to the idea.  “What really gets your goat?”

“Stupidity,” Rodney answered immediately before changing his mind.  “No, not stupidity but the complete and utter failure of people to live up to their potential.”  His hands started to wave as he got more and more worked up.  “Not everyone can be a genius of course but, as humans, we all have the capacity to learn and the..the  _ duty  _ to use that capacity to its fullest. Take my sister for example.  She’s very nearly as smart as I am.  And I am..off the charts smart.”

John didn’t doubt it but he couldn’t help but smile at the arrogance.  Somehow, on Rodney, it came off as endearing.  He figured he’d have to be a genius himself to work out how Rodney managed that.

“She was on the way to big things,” Rodney continued.  “Amazing things.  Grant offers that would have made the likes of Kavanaugh weep.  Prestige.  I mean, I’m not saying she would have won a Nobel but she would have been credited in my acceptance speech, y’know?  And what does she do with all that potential?  She gives it all up.  She meets this..this guy, this English major of all things and gets pregnant.  She now spends her days cleaning up puke and wiping snotty noses.  It’s a waste.”

John privately thought that as long as Rodney’s sister was happy then she had made the right choice but his gut told him that it was a little too early in their acquaintance to share that opinion.  He cleared his throat and went for another approach.  “This might be a good time to tell you that I have a masters in Applied Mathematics from Stanford and passed the MENSA test.”

“You’re in MENSA?”  Rodney looked apoplectic with joy.

“Not exactly,” John admitted.  “I took the test but never joined.”

Rodney’s eyes narrowed and John could tell that he was trying to sniff out a lie.

“76,357,” he challenged.

It took John a second to understand what Rodney was asking before he grinned, sure of his answer.  “Prime.”

“Hmm, could be a fluke. I mean, asking you to identify a prime would be a much more obvious first question than giving you a non-prime number.  568,411?”

“Not prime.  Divisible by 521.”

“524,287?”

John smirked.  “Mersenne prime.”

“God, that’s hot,” Rodney breathed.  “How are you even real?  You’re a plant, aren’t you?  Carter hired you to sit next to me on that train and distract me, didn’t she?”

“Hey,” John laughed.  “ _ You _ sat next to _ me _ .”

Rodney shook his head, still marvelling at John’s mathematical prowess.  It was a strange feeling; to be wanted for something beyond his looks or his ability to fly anything.  John liked it.

The tram pulled into another stop and John stood up, needing to move around.  “Wanna get off this thing?” he asked.

Rodney rolled his eyes and stood.  “At least you’re not making me jump off while it's moving.”

“Would I do a thing like that?”

-*-*-*-*-*-

John and Rodney picked a random direction and began to walk, Rodney still feeling the occasional need to throw math questions at John.  Just to be sure.  John spotted a music store across the street from them and headed straight for it, Rodney trailing after him.

They walked through the door and froze.

“Do you think they’ve heard of Itunes?” Rodney stage whispered.

John ignored him, joyfully trailing his fingers over the rows and rows of vinyl.  It was like his own little version of heaven.  He paused in his browsing to see Rodney looking at him with an expression that somehow managed to be both fond and exasperated at the same time.

“You’re a hipster, aren’t you?” Rodney complained.  “The faux Luddite thing with the phone should have tipped me off.”

“Come on, Rodney.  You don’t have to be a hipster to recognise that this place is amazing. Look,” he pointed towards the back of the shop, “they’ve even got a listening booth.”

“Hip-ster,” Rodney sing-songed with a smile.

“Not my fault that music sounds better on vinyl,” John retorted.  “Hey, check it out, the man in black.”  John pulled out a Johnny Cash record to show Rodney who looked less than impressed.  “What’s wrong with Johnny Cash?” John asked, affronted.

“Nothing at all.  If you’re a hick.”  Rodney rolled his eyes and moved off to do some browsing of his own.  “Huh,” he said a moment later.

John wandered over to him.  “Find anything?”

“This.” Rodney held out a classical album.  Bach.  The Goldberg Variations.  “Now  _ this  _ is real music.”

John noticed the way Rodney reverently handled the vinyl and made a snap decision.  “Come on,” he said, “let’s go and see if that booth still works.  You can start my musical education.”

The listening booth wasn’t really built for two grown men to use, especially when one of those men had shoulders as broad as Rodney’s, but John didn’t mind the close quarters.  He was enjoying the excuse to stand closer to Rodney than was generally socially acceptable.

Rodney’s arm brushed against John’s as he set the record up to play and he apologised softly before the simple sound of a single piano filled the booth.  The music wasn’t what John had expected.  He’d imagined something sweeping and orchestral or maybe ostentatious and triumphant.  Instead, it was, somehow, both beautifully simple and astoundingly complex, with weaving patterns built into the notes that reminded John, of all things, of Fibonacci.

Surprised to find that he liked it, John turned to look at Rodney, his mouth already open to accept his humble pie, and then promptly felt like all the breath had just been knocked out of him.

Rodney was lit up,  _ beautiful _ , with a...John didn’t know how to describe it but he knew that he was screwed.  He thought maybe it was the same light that lit up his own face when he was flying, soaring, but he  _ knew _ that he wanted to see that light in Rodney’s face always.  Rodney stood, head tipped back, leaning against the plywood wall of the booth, eyes closed and his mouth, that crooked, endearing mouth slanted upwards in contentment.  He looked so at peace, so..John swallowed, wetting his dry throat and the spell was broken.  

Rodney shifted, his eyes opening and settling on John with an openness that scared him.  

“It’s...I like it,”  John said. The words felt hopelessly inadequate.

Rodney smiled, pleased.

“Do you play?”  John had to know.  He had to believe that someone who had such an obvious love for music as Rodney did would have learned how to play something.  Anything.

“I did.  Once upon a time.  Gave it up for science.”

John felt an illogical hatred for science.  “You couldn’t have both?”

Rodney’s eyes took on a hurt look that made John want to reach for a weapon.  “I..have this thing,” Rodney explained, “where, if I’m going to do something, I have to give it my everything.  I don’t do half measures, John.”  John shivered, not sure if they were only talking about music.  “I loved playing.  It was my happy place, my sanctuary but...I wasn’t good enough. ‘Technically proficient but without any real feeling for the music’.”  He shrugged.  “Science is good too.”

John could tell from Rodney’s inflexion that the words weren’t his own.  Someone had told him that he wasn’t good enough, that he couldn’t feel the music.  John didn’t need to hear Rodney play to know that was bullshit.

John bought the record before they left the store and knew that he would never be able to listen to it without thinking about Rodney.  He wasn’t sure yet if that was a blessing or a curse.

-*-*-*-*-*-

They walked around a little more after that, Rodney’s app directing them to places of interest.  The gardens in the museum quarter were pretty and the weather was perfect.  It was typical that John’s best day in Europe would be his last.

The Central Cemetery may have seemed a morbid stop on their tour of Vienna but after seeing Rodney’s eyes light up when he read that Beethoven was interred there, John had insisted they take the tram out to see it.

The sheer size of the cemetery was overwhelming, Rodney’s app proclaiming that it was one of the largest in the world and  _ the _ largest in Europe. John was just glad that the app came with a map of the place.

“I’ve always been fascinated by cemeteries,” John admitted as they slowly meandered through one of the older sections.  “They always seem a little out of sync with the rest of the world, like they exist in a separate part of space and time or something.”

“How very poetic of you,” Rodney snorted.  “Are you sure you weren’t an English major?”

“You don’t agree?”

“I hadn’t really thought about it.  My parents are the only people close to me who have ever died and they were cremated.  Jeannie and I scattered their ashes.  Put our differences aside for the day to do it.”

John knew what it was like to lose both parents, even if he hadn’t been particularly close with either of his, and he knew that any condolences he could offer would be useless.  He brushed his knuckles against the back of Rodney’s hand instead, smiling as Rodney took the offer for what it was and folded their hands together.

“My family have one of those big, ridiculous mausoleums,”  John admitted.  “Gotta show the little people you’re better than them, even in death.”

Rodney looked surprised.  “I wouldn’t have pegged you as a rich kid.”

“I’m  _ not, _ ” John said.  “Haven’t touched a penny of my family’s money since I left for college on the Air Force’s dime.”

Rodney’s lips twitched.  “Hence the bumming around Vienna instead of getting a hotel room like a sane person.”

“Exactly.”

“Come on,” Rodney pulled John forward.  “Plenty more to see.”

John was relieved to see that Rodney was just as excited to see Ludwig Boltzmann’s grave as he was the many famous composers that were laid to rest there.  John had never heard of Boltzmann but, after Rodney was finished gushing, he could probably ace a test on the man’s scientific achievements.  Rodney was evidently just as passionate about science as he was about music and some of the anger that John still felt towards whoever told him that he wasn’t good enough started to dissipate.  He hated the thought of Rodney giving up anything that made him that happy without getting anything in return.

As they made their way back to the entry gates, John’s eyes caught on the grave of a member of the Austrian Bundesheer.  Hauptmann Strauss, whoever he was, shared the same birthdate as Mitch.  For just a second, John wasn’t in Vienna, he was back there.  The smell of burning metal, the thick taste of blood on the air - -

“John!  John!”

Rodney’s hand on his arm brought him back.

“Are you alright?”  Concerned blue eyes bore into him.

“I,” John swallowed tightly. “Yeah, it was just..”

Rodney nodded, understanding without John having to explain.  John tried not to look at the scar on Rodney’s arm, visible now that Rodney’s overshirt was tossed carelessly over his shoulder.

“Let’s get out of here,” Rodney offered.  “There’s something you need to see.”

-*-*-*-*-*-

The 212ft tall Riesenrad Ferris wheel could be spotted from two streets over.

“Holy shit,”  John turned to beam at Rodney.  “That’s the Ferris wheel from ‘The Living Daylights!’”

Rodney groaned.  “Please don’t tell me you’re a Dalton fan.”

“I’m a  _ Ferris wheel _ fan.”  John bounced excitedly on his heels.  “This is amazing.”

“You say amazing, I say rickety looking death trap.  It’s over 100 years old!”

John shook his head.  “Exactly!  It’s stood perfectly safely for over 100 years.  It’s not gonna collapse tonight.  Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“I think I used it all up getting off the train.”

John smiled at that.  “And have I told you how glad I am that you did?”

“No.”

“Well, I am.  Very glad.”

Rodney sighed heavily.  “Fine,” he snapped without heat.  “Let’s get tickets before I change my mind.”

-*-*-*-*-*-

John and Rodney were lucky enough to get a gondola to themselves, although John suspected that it was less luck and more an exchange of money while he was busy grinning up at the beautiful, antique Ferris wheel.  Rodney was turning out to be a closeted romantic.  John doubted that it was a coincidence that found them there just as the sun was setting over the city of Vienna.

He was pretty sure first dates were going to be ruined for him forever.

“Hell of a view,” John sighed.

“It is,” Rodney hummed in agreement, flushing slightly.  “Looks like we timed it just right, too.  With the sunset and everything.”

John laughed softly.  He knew it.  “Yeah,” he agreed.  “It’s pretty close to perfect.”

“Close to perfect?”  Rodney sounded affronted.  “What else could you possibly need to - - “

“ _ Rodney _ , shut up and let me kiss you, would you?”

“Oh.”  Rodney closed the distance between them in two short strides.  “About damn time.”

-*-*-*-*-*-

John felt like a teenager as they walked around the amusement park, stopping every so often to steal kisses.  He wasn’t sure that he would ever get tired of kissing Rodney.  With the sun down, Vienna was starting to light up around them and he felt lighter, more free than he had in years.  He knew, in the back of his mind, that their time was running down but John pushed that thought all the way to the back.  He could deal with that later.  On the plane where there would be all the mini bottles of alcohol he could stomach.

Rodney’s growling stomach forced them to leave the park, seeking out something more substantial than lukewarm hot dogs or spun sugar to eat.

One of the things that John  _ did _ love about Europe was the way the weather lent itself to al fresco dining.  They found a small restaurant cafe in a pretty square with tables out on the cobbles that passed Rodney’s stringent menu test.  Listening to Rodney order in fluent German was a revelation.  His previous opinion that German was a harsh, ugly language was immediately thrown out the window as Rodney’s hard consonants did funny things to his stomach.

“So,” John pulled himself together.  “If you hadn’t gotten off the train with me, would you be home by now?”

Rodney blushed a little.  “Not quite,” he admitted.  “I was due in around 6 am tomorrow.”

John blinked in surprise, quickly doing the math.  “That’s a 15-hour train journey from Budapest.”

“Remember when I said I didn’t like flying?” Rodney shrugged.  “Anyway, you’ve spent the past six weeks on trains, you’re hardly one to talk.”

John shook his head in a resigned sort of amazement.  “I’d love to take you flying,” he mused.  “Real flying.  Not these big, impersonal airbuses.  A Skyhawk, or, hell, a helicopter.  Something more intimate.  Just me, you and the sky.”

Rodney snorted.  “Yes, because if I don’t feel safe in a Boeing with its multiple safety precautions, I’m going to do fine in a death trap with a rotor engine.

“All it takes is the right pilot.”

“And you’re the right pilot, are you?”

“I hope so,”  John winked.

Rodney laughed at the terrible line.  “Shut up and eat your damn pasta,” he said, pointing at John’s plate with his own fork.

An hour later, they were still sat at the same table, the remnants of dessert in front of them.  John had enjoyed the sounds Rodney made as he tasted his Sachertorte.  He’s also enjoyed kissing the taste of chocolate from Rodney’s lips.

“Don’t look now,” he murmured, “but I think we’ve attracted some attention.”

Rodney pulled away from John’s lips and groaned as he saw the palm reader who had been peddling her talents in the square start moving towards them, weaving through the other tables.  “This is your fault,” he hissed at John.  

John smiled serenely back at him, completely unapologetic.  Something told him that Rodney’s reaction to this would be priceless.

The woman arrived at their table and asked a question in German.  John bit his cheek to keep from laughing when Rodney’s response was to slow clap.  “Excellent first impression,” he said.  “A real fortune teller would have known to use English.”

The palm reader levelled Rodney with a glare that promised horrible curses on him and his family.  She dismissed him haughtily and turned to John.  “Give me your palm,” she said in heavily accented English.

“Ah, how much?”  John was conscious that his funds were running low. 

“Five euro,” the woman replied, making Rodney squawk in outrage.

John mentally counted his remaining funds and held his palm out, enjoying the way Rodney’s face turned a fetching shade of violet.

“This is utterly- - “

“Ssh, Rodney,” John teased.  “I want to hear what she has to say.”

The palm reader smiled at him.  “You are a long way from home.”

“Oh, wonderful observation,” Rodney interrupted.  “However did you manage to guess that?”

The woman ignored him, still concentrating on John’s palm.  “This man is a stranger to you,” she said.  “But not for much longer.  I see it.  You have an adventurer’s heart but it was broken.  I think that you are still hurting from that.  But you will heal.  I see much more before you.  You will be happy again, I think.  You are a  _ survivor _ .”

John smiled at her, heartened by the pretty words, even if he knew they were all claptrap.

“Money, please.”  The woman held her hand out and Rodney snorted.

Pressing the five euros into her hand, John nodded his head in thanks.

The woman skipped away, remarkably spry for her years, her long dress trailing on the cobbled concrete of the square.  As she walked away, she turned and offered them one last bit of advice.

“You are both stars, don’t forget.  When the stars exploded billions of years ago, they formed everything that is this world. The moon, the trees, everything we know is stardust.  So, don’t forget. You are stardust.”

Rodney threw his hands in the air at the idiocy, yelling after her.  “I can’t even begin to explain how inaccurate that is.  On a biological, chemical and cosmic level- - “

John's sides hurt from laughing and he pulled Rodney up and out his chair, tossing a few coins on the table before leading him in the opposite direction from the palm reader,  all the better to stop him chasing after her to start lecturing her on the physics of evolution.  "Walk it off, buddy," he choked out.  "Walk it off."

“But you - - you didn’t believe any of that, did you?”

Rodney let himself be led by the hand, causing John to smile.  “No, but it was nice to hear.”

“Of course it was nice to hear.  You think anyone would pay money to hear an old woman tell them that every single day of the rest of their life will be exactly the same as the one before?”

John cocked his head.  “I don’t know,” he mused.  “Depends on the day.  I’d be pretty happy to hear that today.”

“Yes, well,” Rodney stuttered at the compliment in those words before relaxing and smiling.  “Me too.”

-*-*-*-*-*-

“You know,” John said as they walked along the side of the Donaukanal, “my friend, Teyla, she believes in all that.”

“What?  Palm readers and fortune tellers?”  Rodney sounded appalled.

“And fate.  She told me that I had to take this trip.  I had promised someone, someone that I served with that I would do this.  We talked about all the places that we wanted to see, something more than desert or bush.  I wasn’t going to do it but Teyla told me that I should, that it would be good for me.”

“She sounds nice,” Rodney said.  “Ridiculous, but nice.”

“None of your friends would buy into that, huh?”

“Of course not,” Rodney replied.  “They’re all scientists.”  He tilted his head and reconsidered.  “Well, maybe Carson but what can you expect?  He’s a medical doctor, so..”

John laughed.  He’d heard this rant earlier.  “Voodoo practitioners, the lot of them.”

“Exactly,” Rodney beamed happily at him.

They walked along the canal, hand in hand.  The air was cooler now that the sun had been down for a few hours but it was still pleasant.  There weren’t many people about, a few couples taking in the night air.  It was nice.  Quiet.  Almost magical.

“What would you be doing right now if I hadn’t gotten off the train with you?” Rodney interrupted the comfortable silence.

“I’d probably be bumming around the airport,”  John admitted.  “Drowning my sorrows.”  He smiled to show that he was only joking.  Probably.  “What about you?  How were you planning to pass the insanely long train journey?”

Rodney shrugged nonchalantly, his eyes bright with laughter.  “I probably would have left the train with someone else at Innsbruck.”

John pushed him playfully, chuckling at Rodney’s faux indignant outrage and saving him as he almost crashed into a lamppost.

Rodney paused, his attention caught by the poster on the lamppost.  He turned to look at John, smiling wryly.  “We’re too early,” he said, gesturing to the poster.  “I could have continued your education.”

John peered at the poster.  It was written in German but he could see that it was advertising a concert.  Brahms.

“Brahms was a virtuoso,” Rodney said.  “He premiered a lot of his own works on piano himself.”

John hummed encouragingly.  He would never get tired of listening to Rodney speak about music.

“A lot of his critics say that he was too rigid, too hampered by the meticulous structures he used but they’re idiots.  The structure only served to enhance everything else.  How anyone could listen to Symphony No. 3 in F and say that is beyond me. It’s brave and sweeping and- -”

“How anyone could say that you lacked passion for music, I’ll never understand.”

Rodney blushed at John’s interruption.  He cleared his throat.  “I think it’s past time for a beer,” he said.  “I seem to recall promising to convince you that European beer is superior to American in every respect.”

John let the subject drop, he could see how uncomfortable it made Rodney.  He leant close and kissed Rodney gently on the lips before pulling back and sweeping his hands in front of him.  “Lead the way.”

Mr. Canada really did have a great ass.

-*-*-*-*-*-

Like most European cities, bars weren’t hard to come by in Vienna and a short walk offered them a host of choices.  The bar they finally settled on was the perfect medium between too full and too empty and free from the crowds of twenty-somethings that invariably made John feel old.  There was live music that didn’t make his ears bleed and booths along one wall with a chessboard patterned table between them.  Rodney had been delighted to find that he could request chess pieces from the bar.

John felt braver with a beer in his hand, even if it was a European brand.  He made his next move on the chessboard.  “We haven’t spoken about it yet, but do you have someone waiting for you in Geneva?”

Rodney raised his eyebrows in surprise.  “It’s a bit late to be asking that, isn’t it?  If I was, I’ve already cheated on them.  Or have I imagined all the kissing?”

John leant back and took a pull from his beer.  “Don’t they say it doesn’t count if it’s in another country?”

He’d expected Rodney to smile but, instead, he flinched, the slight downward slant of his mouth becoming more pronounced.  John knew immediately that someone had hurt Rodney and he felt the urge to rip whoever had caused that hurt into pieces.

“There’s no one for me either,” John said quietly.  “I don’t want you to think…” he trailed off as Rodney finally made his move and lifted his eyes to look directly at him.  God, those eyes saw right through him.

“What about  _ him _ ?”  Rodney asked.  “The guy you came here for?  You telling me that you and he weren’t- -”

“He was married.”

“Yeah, because  _ that _ stops them.”

“Married and stupidly in love with his wife,” John clarified.  “I’m not saying that I didn’t have..feelings or whatever but..”

“Did he die?”  Rodney winced.  “I didn’t mean to ask that.”

John smiled faintly, waving Rodney’s apology off.  “Yeah.  I wasn’t there.  I was, Jesus..”  John ran his hands through his hair and took a long swallow of beer.  “I was in the damn infirmary with food poisoning.  If I had been there, where I was  _ supposed _ to, then- -”

“It wasn’t your fault.”  Rodney reached across the table to grasp John’s hand.  “Anymore than what happened to me was mine.”

“I know that.  I just don’t…”

“You just don’t  _ know _ it.”

John breathed out slowly.  “Yeah.”  He sighed.  “Checkmate in three by the way.”

Rodney’s mouth dropped open as he came to the same conclusion.  “I can’t believe it.  You distracted me with all of your -” Rodney waved his hands, gesturing up and down the length of John.  “Best of three,” he challenged with a tilt to his head.

The obnoxious sound of Crazy Frog interrupted their next game and John grinned as Rodney stared at him, horrified.

“You do know what year this is, don’t you?”

“That’ll be Ronon,” John said.  “I kind of have to answer or he’ll kick my ass.”

Rodney waved his hands in permission.  “Don’t let me stop you.”

John smiled in thanks.  “Hey buddy,” he spoke into the phone.  “Now’s not really a good time.”

“Thought you were at the airport,” Ronon said.  John always expected these transatlantic phone calls to sound tinny but Ronon’s deep voice came through clear as day.

“I decided to kick around Vienna tonight instead.”

“On your own?”

John looked over at Rodney who was looking far too interested in the drinks menu to be doing anything but listening in.  To hell with it, he thought.  “No.  I met someone on the train.  He’s keeping me company.”

Rodney lost all pretence of not listening, his eyes coming up to stare at John.

“He’s, he’s kind of amazing actually,” John continued.  “Makes the whole trip not suck.”

Ronon was silent, processing, and John was glad that it was his turn and not Teyla’s to make the check-in phone call.  “Gonna see him again?”

That was the million dollar question, wasn’t it?  John smiled across at Rodney.  “We haven’t talked about that yet.”

“Probably should,” Ronon replied.

John snorted.  Ronon always did have a knack for stating the obvious.  “Yeah, Chewie,” he agreed.  “We probably should.”

Ronon hung up shortly after that, but not before warning John that Teyla was going to have a lot of questions.  John was already dreading it.

Feeling guilty for taking the call, John smiled apologetically at Rodney.  “Is there anyone you need to - - “

Rodney waved him off.  “I’ll deal with all that tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.”  John sighed heavily and leant back, the game forgotten.  “That’s when we turn into pumpkins, right?”

Rodney shrugged, avoiding John’s eyes as he fiddled with the label on his beer.  “I think this the part where you’re supposed to bring out the glass slipper, or something else ridiculous.”

“Yeah?”  John smiled, amused by the idea of Rodney as a Disney Princess.  Although, he had the baby blues to pull off a Disney Prince.

“Yeah.” Rodney blushed.

“It’ll fit,”  John said quietly.  Finishing his beer, he stood up and held out his hand for Rodney.  “It’s almost closing time.  Let’s walk.”

-*-*-*-*-*-

The small hours of the morning lent Vienna a strange, surreal quality.  It was almost as if they were the only two people in the city.  The city itself felt like it was laid out before them for the taking.  John decided to take, cajoling Rodney into climbing the fence of a private garden complex situated between two swanky looking apartment blocks; someplace nice and private to while away their last hours with the overpriced bottle of wine that Rodney had bullied the barman into selling them.

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Rodney huffed.  He almost overbalanced as his foot caught on the decorative metal on top of the fence but John was there to catch him.

John wanted to always be there to catch him.

Pushing that want aside, John clapped Rodney on the back and gestured broadly at the silent gardens that had been hidden by the fence and the thick bush that surrounded them.  “Tell me it isn’t worth it,” he said.

Rodney’s grumble was in contrast to the soft look in his eyes.  “I’ll tell you that when we’re getting arrested, shall I?”

John laughed.  “Hey, at least we’d get to spend more time together.”  He regretted the words as soon as he spoke.  No matter what he’d said to Ronon, he really wasn’t ready to bring up the fact that their hourglass was getting painfully bottom heavy.  Not least because of the pinched look it made on Rodney’s face.

“Are we going to talk about it?”

John led Rodney deeper into the garden.  He spread his coat out on the ground and cracked open the bottle of wine before sitting on the makeshift blanket.  “What if this was it?” he said.

Rodney flopped down next to him and leant back on his arms, his legs stretched in front of him,  “What do you mean?”

John took a swig from the bottle and passed it to Rodney.  “What if tonight was our only night?  What if, later today, you get on that train and I get on my flight and we never see each other again?  What would you do differently?”

Rodney smiled around the bottle before swallowing.  “I’d get a hotel room and fuck you senseless.”

John barked out a laugh and grabbed the bottle out of Rodney’s hand.  “Hey, don’t let that stop you, there’s a park bench right over there,” he offered.

“What kind of man do you take me for?”

John turned serious.  “I know exactly what sort of man you are.”

Rodney shook his head, sitting up.  “You can’t know that,” he said.  “This is insane.  You get that, right?  We’ve known each other for less than 12 hours.  We shouldn’t be..shouldn’t..”

“I know.” John nodded.  “But we do.  At least,  _ I _ do.”

“I do too.”

The silence that followed was the first truly awkward silence between the two of them since they’d met.

John broke it.  “I live in California.  You..you live in Switzerland and hate to fly.”

“Flying’s not so bad,” Rodney insisted weakly.

“Rodney.”  John set the bottle down on the grass and looked at him.  “I don’t want false promises.  Maybe we should just..agree that tonight is it.”

Rodney looked away and John took the opportunity to  _ really _ look at him, to memorise the curve of his chin and the slant of his mouth.  It would kill a part of him to say goodbye, but he knew that it would hurt more to watch this - whatever _ this  _ was - pitter out over weeks and months of living on different continents.

“You know what I want?” Rodney turned to look at him and John tried to memorise the exact shade of blue that was his eyes.

“What?”

“To be kissed.”

“Well,” John drawled.  “I can do that.”

John leant forward and pressed his mouth against Rodney’s, pushing Rodney gently down to the ground, exploring his mouths and lips and taste, and trying very hard to burn this moment into his mind for all time.

If tonight was all they had, John was going to remember it forever.

-*-*-*-*-*-

The sunrise woke them and they left the garden reluctantly.  John tried not to be disappointed that they hadn’t been caught and arrested but it was getting harder and harder to accept that their end was approaching.

An early opening bakery provided them with warm pastries and hot coffee which they took with them as they walked the silent pavements, curving back in the direction that would take them back to the station where Rodney would board his train to Zurich and John would board his bus to the airport.

Neither of them was ready to take that final step, for it to be over.  They ate breakfast in a small square near the museum quarter and, afterwards, John sat on the steps of a monument to a man he’d never heard of with Rodney’s head in his lap and a growing pain in his chest.

“Promise me something,” he said softly, stroking Rodney’s hair.  “Promise me that you’ll play again.  I think it would make you happy.”

Rodney hummed in contentment, pushing into John’s touch.  “Only if you promise me that you’ll forgive yourself,” he bargained.

For the first time, John felt like that was a promised that he could keep.

“What time is it?”  Rodney sounded torn.

“We’ve still got some time left,” John assured him.  Time.  He smiled softly.  “ _ The years shall run like rabbits _ ,” he mused.

Rodney peered up at him, curious.  “Say that again?”

John shook his head.  “It’s nothing.  Tonight just reminds me of something I read once.”  John felt a little ridiculous but cleared his throat and started to recite poetry like the lovestruck fool he was.  “ _ But all the clocks in the city / Began to whirr and chime: / ‘O let not Time deceive you, / You cannot conquer Time. _ ”

Rodney scoffed.  “I’m pretty sure that I told you how I feel about English majors,” he smiled.  “That extends to poetry.”

John flushed.  “Yeah, well- -”

“Besides,” Rodney continued, “that’s not even the aptest verse.”

John raised his eyebrows in surprise as Rodney recited Auden.

“ _ It was late, late in the evening, / The lovers they were gone; / The clocks had ceased their chiming, / And the deep river ran on _ .  Genius, remember?”

They both sat in contemplative silence until the striking of a nearby clock intruded.

“You cannot conquer time,” Rodney muttered.  He sat up and stretched, leaving John’s lap cold.  “We can’t put it off any longer.  Let’s go.”

-*-*-*-*-*-

Westbahnhof train station was crowded with early morning commuters and, just like that, their magical night was over.  They had cut it too close and by the time they reclaimed their bags and found the right platform, Rodney’s train was starting to board.

“This is it,” John breathed.  He looked wildly around for something, anything, that he could use as an excuse to stop this from being real.  “I, Rodney, I- -”

“No.”  Rodney dropped his bags to the ground and shook his head obstinately.  “Absolutely not.  This isn’t  _ it _ .  Jesus.  I’m thirty-six, John.  Time isn’t something that any of us have a huge surplus of and while this whole ‘one night only’ thing may be tragic and romantic and appeal to your ridiculous hipster side, I’m a grown man who knows how..how really fucking rare it is to find someone that I - -” Rodney ran his hands through his hair, making it stand up.  “Give me your phone,” he demanded.

John handed it over, grinning from ear to ear.

“This is called Skype,” Rodney said as he did something complicated looking to John’s screen.  “You can use this to keep in contact with me and we’ll...look, I don’t know but this isn’t it, OK?  I won’t let it be.”  He thrust the phone back at John.

John chuckled at the account name Rodney had chosen for him.  ‘Ignorant American Tourist’.”How do I add you?” he asked.

“Already done,” Rodney said as he quickly tapped at his own phone.  “You have a long flight ahead of you.  You can use it to learn how to work your damn phone properly, OK?  And I put my cell, my email and my address in there as well.”  The final boarding call announcement came over the tannoy and Rodney’s eyes widened in panic.  “You’ll...we’ll…”

John knew how Rodney felt.  He couldn’t find the words either.  He pulled Rodney into a crushing hug and kissed him again, but not for a final time.  He promised himself that.  “We will,” he whispered fiercely.  “I will.”

Rodney’s train pulled out of the station and John watched it go.  Smiling softly, he picked up his own bag and turned to start the journey home.

-*-*-*-*-*-

Rodney collapsed onto the train seat, his heart hammering loudly in his chest.  He was hard pressed to believe that the past 16 hours had actually happened, would have written it all off as a stress-induced hallucination if it hadn’t been for the new contact in his phone.

Pulling out his phone, he took a deep breath and opened his browser.  If he wanted to book a flight home for Christmas he should do it now before the prices skyrocketed.

Hands shaking, he looked at the confirmation of his purchase and...it didn’t feel as terrifying as he would have thought.  Maybe all he had needed was the correct incentive.  Breathing deeply, he started to tuck his phone away when an incoming Skype call lit it up.  Rodney felt the smile break out on his face as he rushed to answer.

“John?”

John’s messy hair and green eyes greeted him.  “Sheppard,” he said.  “I..forgot to say.  My name.  John Sheppard.”

Rodney laughed, ignoring the looks that he drew from the other passengers.  “Rodney McKay,” he said.  “It’s good to meet you, John Sheppard.”

“You too, McKay.  You too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the movie, Before Sunrise, which is my favourite romantic film.
> 
> Thank you to rachaeljurassic for the quick beta and assuring me it made sense to someone who hasn't watched the movie.


End file.
